


Smiles Await You When You Rise

by supernatural_mondler (starzinoureyes)



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 17:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starzinoureyes/pseuds/supernatural_mondler
Summary: It’s incredible, really; he spent almost all day trying, willing himself into slumber, but after less than an hour of listening to Alex’s soothing voice and looking at his beautiful face, Henry is just moments away from the most peaceful sleep he’s had in weeks.  God, why don’t they just do this every night?  Henry might be able to get his sleep cycle back to normal if he only had Alex talk to him whenever it was time for bed.Or, five times Alex helps Henry fall asleep.





	Smiles Await You When You Rise

**Author's Note:**

> alternately titled, "stop projecting onto fictional characters @ myself" bc thats literally all this is *shrugs*
> 
> some of the dialogue in the first, third, and fourth sections come from the book, so credit goes to casey mcquinston for that obviously!
> 
> title from "golden slumbers" by the beatles bc how else would i title my fics if not through beatles songs?

** _One_ **

Henry grumbles in frustration as he rolls over for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight. It doesn’t take long for him to accept that it’s futile, and rolls to his other side and grabs his laptop. While he waits for it to power up, he grabs himself a glass of water and the sleeve of Jaffa Cakes he’s taken to stashing in his room for nights like these. His alarm is already set for some ungodly hour, and Henry shudders to think of the state he’ll look once it rings and he’s barely gotten a wink of rest. Time for some preemptive damage control, he thinks, and grabs one of the face masks he saves for nights when he thinks he might need a little extra help looking presentable in the morning. Henry’s no stranger to insomnia, has experienced it to varying degrees since he was a child, but it had gotten much worse during his teenage years, after…

But no matter how familiar it is, it’s no less frustrating when after a long, tiring day, he can’t shut off his brain. When he was in school, these nights were a blessing in disguise. It gave him more hours to study, or to read, or to go for runs in the cool night air. Valuable time to himself, while the rest of the world was asleep. Now, though, he just doesn’t have that much to do. 

Texting Alex provides a nice distraction, weirdly. When he’s trading barbs with the other boy, he’s not thinking about, well, much of anything else. (Other than that night when Alex sent a picture of himself working on homework in bed. Shirtless. But that had invoked a completely…different type of problem). 

So seeing his phone light up in the dim room sends a smile across his face and a fluttering in his chest. No one else would be so inconsiderate as to text him so bloody late, and Henry would make a show of complaining but secretly he lives for their late-night conversations. Even if he didn’t struggle falling asleep, Henry doesn’t think there’s anything he’d rather do than text Alex all day long. 

He reaches towards the source of the brightness and feels his face curl into a smile at Alex’s poultry-related crisis. Alex had explained to him earlier about the turkey pardon and why the two birds would be spending the night in his room. It had sounded like an absolutely horrible idea at the time, and Henry’s only a little bit smug at being proven right. He sends back a very helpful ‘_Please send photos_’ and actually laughs out loud at the image he receives in response.

‘_I think he’s cute_,’ Henry texts back, not because he actually thinks the turkey is cute, but because he knows exactly how to push Alex’s buttons, and doing so has become something of a game between the two of them. Well, it had started as actual antagonizing, but somewhere along the way Alex’s blows had become softer, and Henry had felt like he could relax into it. Like he doesn’t have to watch himself around Alex. 

‘_that’s because you can’t hear all the menacing gobbling_’ is Alex’s next response, and the very moment Henry replies the phone screen lights up again, this time with an incoming call. Henry’s heart is practically in his throat as he answers, all too aware that they don’t _do _this. For all it seems like he spends every free moment talking to Alex, they’ve never done more than exchange random text messages, without so much as pressure to reply. Talking on the phone—hearing Alex’s voice—is something that Henry would have liked time to prepare for.

“_You know what you little shit_,” comes Alex’s sunny greeting, the sound washing comfortingly over Henry’s ears nonetheless, “_you can hear it for yourself and then tell me how you would handle this…_”

Henry blinks in bemusement as his foggy brain processes Alex’s words. “Alex?” he questions slowly. “Have you really rung me at three o’clock in the morning to make me listen to a turkey?”

“_Yes, obviously_,” Alex responds, as though he can think of no other way to possibly deal with this. Henry really should be annoyed, but despite his ever-growing tiredness he knows he’s no closer to actually falling asleep than he was an hour ago, and appreciates the company. Entertainment, really.

Because now Alex is trying to make the turkeys gobble into the phone so that Henry can hear and it’s taking everything in Henry not to burst out laughing, now that the birds apparently aren’t cooperating. 

“_They’ve been gobbling all fucking night, I swear_,” Alex tries again. Henry hears rustling over the line and muffles a giggle into his hand at the image of all the ways Alex could possibly be trying to lure the damn things into making noise again. Suddenly Henry has the idea for a way he could have a bit more fun. As long as he’s awake anyways.

“We hunt loads of wild turkeys in the spring,” Henry tries to keep his voice as level as he can, not wanting to give himself away. “The trick is to get into the mind of the turkey.”

He can hardly believe it but Alex does everything he says, and Henry is nearly in stitches when Alex finally catches on. He lets out an indignant squawk, which triggers a similar reaction in whichever turkey Alex had been trying to coax, and Henry just about pisses himself with laughter.

“No, all right, I did hear it, and it was…proper frightening,” Henry admits, once he’s calmed down a little, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. He feels lightheaded, giddy from happiness and drunk off the way Alex’s voice sounds when he’s irritated. Henry’s so smitten he could die.

Apparently Alex has been left all alone in this, too, June and Nora abandoning him for what Alex calls a ‘girls’ night’, and Henry actually feels a little bit bad for him. He can’t imagine a universe in which he would willingly invite two turkeys to spend the night in his room, but he also can’t imagine doing it with no one close by. Henry’s apartment in Kensington—the one he shares with Bea—is quite large. The thought of having his room invaded like that with no one in shouting distance is enough to make him shudder. Granted, Alex had brought it upon himself—stupid boy always trying to do the right thing—but still, Henry feels for him. 

“You couldn’t just go sleep somewhere else?” Henry suggests, because apparently he’s still the rational one despite the irrationally late hour, and because there’s a part of him that actually does worry about Alex in his room with the turkeys all night. Not because he believes Alex is in any real danger, but because he knows Alex sometimes struggles to sleep too, and the other boy doesn’t need another thing disturbing his rest. Not that Henry would admit that to anyone, ever.

“_Okay, but, uh, what if they escape?_” Alex countered, choosing to ignore rationality. “_I’ve seen Jurassic Park. Did you know birds are directly descended from raptors? That’s a scientific fact. Raptors in my bedroom, Henry. And you want me to go to sleep like they’re not gonna bust out of their enclosures and take over the island the minute I close my eyes? Okay. Maybe your white ass._” Very rational.

Henry sighs. Truly the most infuriating human he’s ever met. Too bad Henry adores him anyways. Too bad Henry has to forcefully restrain himself from saying that.

“I’m really going to have you offed,” he says instead, an attempt to return to their usual banter. “You’ll never see it coming. Our assassins are trained in discretion. They will come at night an make it look like a humiliating accident.” He’s teasing of course; if the family does in fact have such assassins—which wouldn’t exactly surprise him—Henry certainly doesn’t know where to get in touch with them. Nor does he know how one might fake a toilet heart attack. But it sounds threatening, so his statement stands.

“_I thought you’d kill me in a more personal way_,” Alex teases back, apparently in no way deterred by Henry’s threat. Before Alex, Henry didn’t remember the last person who had talked to him like this. Like a person, instead of a prince. Maybe that was why Alex was never more attractive to him than when he was being a dick. “_Silk pillow over my face, slow and gentle suffocation. Just you and me. Sensual._”

Henry feels himself go bright red and tries very hard not to picture that. (He fails).

Henry clears his throat and coughs, more to get a grip on himself than anything. Fortunately, Alex pivots the conversation back to his imminent death-by-turkeys and saves Henry from having to actually respond to _that_.

Suddenly, Henry is met with a faceful of fur and he almost drops his phone as he tries to maneuver the warm body to his side instead of on top of him. “David says hello,” he informs Alex over the phone, and not a minute later he’s assaulted by another fuzzy body on his other side, this one after his snacks.

“_What in the fuck is a Mr. Wobbles?_” Alex asks after Henry yelps in annoyance at the intrusion of his space.

“My sister’s idiot cat. The thing weighs a ton and is still trying to steal my Jaffa Cakes. He and David are mates.”

“_What are you even doing right now?_” Alex asks, and Henry feels himself blush as he remembers just what he had been doing when Alex called. Usually he doesn’t care that his late-night activities would be considered ‘uncool’, but damn if Henry doesn’t care a little bit what Alex thinks of him (he cares a lot).

“I was trying to _sleep_,” he lies, because he _had_ technically been trying to sleep before Alex called. Just not _right_ before he called. 

“_Okay_,” Alex counters, “_but you’re eating Jabba Cakes, so._”

“_Jaffa_ Cakes, my _God_,” Henry huffs. “I’m having my entire life haunted by a deranged American Neanderthal and a pair of turkeys, apparently.”

“_And?_”

Henry sighs. Alex is _relentless_ and it’s _exhausting_ and Henry is really powerless but to do whatever he wants. “Don’t laugh,” he warns, already regretting his entire life at Alex’s unconcealed glee. “I was watching _Great British Bake Off_,” he admits, hoping that maybe that would be enough to satisfy the other boy’s curiosity.

“_Cute_.” Henry blushes. “_Not embarrassing, though. What else?_” Of course Henry wouldn’t be that lucky.

Another sigh. “I, er, might be…wearing one of those peely face masks.” Under which, his face is surely the darkest red it has ever been.

“_Oh my God, I knew it!_” Alex exclaims. “_I knew you had one of those crazy expensive Scandinavian skin care regimens. Do you have that, like, eye cream with diamonds in it?_”

Henry can practically hear the laughter in Alex’s voice and has to remind himself that this is just what they do. Alex making fun of him isn’t the same as those kids who used to snicker behind his back in secondary school. Alex making fun of him isn’t the same as the rude comments Henry shouldn’t read in the papers and online but definitely does anyways. He has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, this isn’t going to make Alex think less of him. He has to remind himself of this.

He also has to get his heart out of his throat after the glorious sound of Alex’s laughter practically sets him on fire.

“Look, I have an appearance tomorrow, all right?” Henry defends himself, because despite his self-pep talk, he really needs Alex to not think of him as a complete loser. “I didn’t know I’d be _scrutinized_.”

“_I’m not scrutinizing!_” Alex replies, and Henry’s chest loosens significantly at just the minor reassurance. “_We all gotta keep those pores in check. So you like Bake Off, huh?_”

Somehow, that launches Henry into describing everything he loves about the show, describing the soothing tones and the calming colors and the sharp wit of the hosts on days where he’s looking to escape from everything. He wishes he could say it was something his sister got him hooked on, but he had gotten into the show all on his own, desperate for something to occupy his late nights. 

“_You know, you’re kind of surprising_,” Alex comments once he finally trails off. He sounds…soft, somehow. 

“In what way?”

“_In that you’re not a totally boring asshole._” Henry isn’t sure whether to be thrilled at what is most definitely a compliment coming from Alex, or heartbroken that Alex had thought so poorly of him for so long.

“You thought I was a dumb blonde, didn’t you?” Henry goes for humor, as seems to be their way.

“_Not exactly, just, boring. I mean, your dog is named David, which is pretty boring._”

“After Bowie,” Henry replies casually, and smirks to himself at the way Alex completely loses it at that information. He’s fairly certain he’s managed to impress Alex and something warm stirs inside him. His pride is interrupted by a loud yawn from the other end of the line, reminding him that its getting late for _both_ of them now. “Alex.”

“_What?”_

“The turkeys are not going to _Jurassic Park_ you. You’re not the bloke from _Seinfeld_. You’re Jeff Goldblum. Go to sleep,” he instructs.

“_You go to sleep,_” Alex returns sleepily, and Henry can’t stop the fond grin on his face.

“I will, just as soon as you get off the phone, won’t I?”

“_Okay_,” Alex agrees. Then asks, “_but, like, what if they gobble again?_”

“Go sleep in June’s room, you numpty,” Henry replies, nearly certain that the overwhelming fondness he feels is showing in his voice. He can only hope that Alex is too tired to pick up on it.

“_Okay._”

“Okay.”

“_Okay._”

God, Henry hates himself a little bit. At least Alex doesn’t seem to be faring much better.

“Okay,” he tries again. “So. Goodnight.”

“_Cool. Goodnight_.”

The line goes dead and Henry isn’t actually sure which of them hangs up first, only that they had been talking for over an hour and he feels about two stone lighter than he had before the call, and he isn’t even surprised. Something about Alex’s voice is even more soothing than _Bake Off_, and there’s no competition as to which Henry would prefer occupy his time.

He closes his laptop and nudges the pets carefully out of the way as he gets up to wash the face mask off, ready to hopefully try for a few hours of sleep tonight before his all-too-early alarm would send him back into the public eye, the Henry of tonight gone and replaced with _His Royal Highness, Prince Henry of Wales_. He doesn’t like that Henry nearly as much.

By the time he gets back to bed there’s another text waiting for him from Alex.

‘_i sent pics of turkeys so I deserve pics of your animals too._’

Henry rolls his eyes in amusement and blushes at the thought of sending Alex a picture from his bed, but he lies back down between the cat at the dog to snap the photo. He knows his face is still flushed a bashful pink, but he must be too tired to care because he hits send anyways, with the caption, ‘_This is what I must endure._’ Then, ‘_Goodnight, honestly._’

Alex must have fallen asleep, because he uncharacteristically allows Henry to have the last word in the conversation, and Henry smiles to himself once more. For all his heart is now racing, his brain is at last eerily still, so that when he finally locks his phone and closes his eyes again, he’s out within seconds, the sound of Alex’s laugh echoing in his ears.

** _Two_ **

Henry knows he can be difficult to deal with sometimes. He gets moody and frustrated and takes it out on other people and now that he knows why he’s frankly not surprised that Alex hated him for as long as he did. Years of training have made Henry a professional at putting on a pleasant public face, but every once in a while he just can’t hold it together and on those days he wonders how he has any friends at all.

Usually even Pez gives him space on his moody days, lets him mope to himself for however long is necessary before re-inserting himself into Henry’s life. Henry can’t fault him for it, he used to specifically ask for space and now they have their routine and it’s okay.

Alex doesn’t know the meaning of space.

It’s all or nothing with him, apparently, because after nearly three years of nothing but passive aggressive glares and snarky comments whenever they were forced to be in the same room, Henry now rarely goes more than a few hours without hearing from Alex. Things about their lives, Alex’s job on the campaign, their friends and sisters, sexy things (when they’re sure they won’t be disturbed). 

So even during his bouts of depression, and even with Alex thousands of miles away, Henry never finds himself left alone.

(Henry finds he doesn’t mind).

He either sleeps too much or not at all; sometimes he spends an entire day in bed, drifting in and out and never having the energy to open his eyes fully, and sometimes no matter how much his chest aches and his eyes burn he _cannot_ shut off his brain long enough to escape it all. Both ways are completely awful, and Henry never feels worse about himself.

Alex, though…never seems to mind? The thing about Alex is, he loves attention. Thrives off of it. Could talk about himself for ages. Not in a self-centered way, he just struggles a bit with silence, and Henry is more than happy to just listen to him talk for hours on end. 

Sometimes Henry doesn’t have the energy for even that. He just _can’t_ keep up with their usual banter. The first time, he ignored Alex’s texts altogether for almost a full forty-eight hours, and gave him some lame excuse that neither of them believed when he finally rejoined the land of the functioning. The second time, Alex didn’t let him off the hook so easily. And after that, well…Alex just seems to have a sense for exactly what Henry needs.

Henry’s had his phone turned off for the better part of the day. He had let Alex know when he woke up that morning that he wasn’t feeling up to conversation, that he shouldn’t worry, and that Henry would talk to him later. He hadn’t even waited for a response before powering down and tugging the covers back over his head, hoping to spend at least the next few hours resetting his brain.

Unfortunately, today his brain has other plans, because even after an undetermined amount of time spent squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt at an unrestful sleep, Henry feels no less blue and a lot more frustrated. He finally caves and grabs his phone again, thinking that perhaps some mind-numbing tv would ease him a bit. At the very least, if he allows himself to be swept up in cake baking he won’t be thinking about anything else.

He doesn’t even have time to open Netflix, though, because his phone buzzes with a text message within seconds, and of course it’s from Alex. 

‘_you good?_’ he asks. Henry checks the time stamp and it isn’t from earlier in the day, Alex had sent that message right when Henry turned his phone back on. He doesn’t know what to make of the timing, whether it’s coincidence or if their minds truly are connected somehow. He’s not sure which of the two would be more startling.

‘_Sorry. Fine._’ Henry replies, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He still feels terrible that he gets like this, that his sour moods impact other people as well, which only serves to make him feel worse, and on and on. It’s not Alex’s responsibility to take care of him. It’s no one’s problem but his own.

Instead of responding this time, Alex initiates a facetime call. For half a second, he considers declining the call, but his thumb moves of its own accord and swipes his phone open. Henry schools his face into as neutral an expression as he can while the call connects, planning on just talking for long enough that Alex will stop worrying, then going back to himself.

Alex’s smiling face is what greets him on the phone screen, but it’s not his usual smirk, this one is softer, like he’s trying to wrap Henry in warmth from the other side of the screen. Alex is sitting in bed, like he usually is when they make these calls, and his hair is ruffled in the way that reminds Henry of how it looks after Henry has run his hands through it a few times. Henry might feel a little better already.

“_Wanted to see you for myself_,” Alex explains in greeting. 

“Yes, here I am, hello,” Henry returns, offering a sheepish smile of his own. “How’d you know my phone would be on?”

“_You shared your location with me, remember dumbass?_”

“Been checking up on me then?”

“_Of course,_” Alex replies seriously. “_I know you tell me not to worry, but I can’t help missing you when you disappear like that. I wish I could help._”

“I don’t recall asking for your help,” Henry huffs, cheeks going pink. Alex has no reason to feel bad. This is why Henry likes to retreat into himself, so he doesn’t wind up hurting someone lo…someone he cares about.

“_You didn’t_,” Alex acknowledges. “_But I want to help anyways, baby. I’m happiest when you are._”

“God, you’re insufferable,” Henry says, because he doesn’t know how else to respond to that. His own happiness is very closely entwined with Alex’s, of course, but that’s been true almost all along. Meanwhile, Alex has been adamant that what they’re doing…it’s just friendship. With sex. 

It feels like so much more than that.

The thing is, Henry is fairly certain he’s never felt so close to another human before. He’s told Alex about his dad, he’s told Alex about his sister, he’s told Alex about coming to terms with his sexuality as a teenager…things he’s never told anyone. Even Pez. Part of him feels a bit uncomfortable with someone else having this peek inside his mind, but part of him feels freer than he ever has, knowing that there’s one person with whom he never, ever has to hide. (He still does, sometimes, because old habits die hard). (It’s useless, because Alex sees through him anyways).

And he’s always thought of Alex as an open book, but the more he talks to him, the more Henry realizes that that too is something special they share. Just because he knows how to smile for the cameras and sit through interviews with a casualness that appears like he has nothing to hide, doesn’t mean that that is actually the case. Henry should’ve expected that, but it still sends a little chill through him every time he realizes that he and Alex truly share something special. He gets to see parts of Alex no one else does. How incredible is that?

“_I am a delight_,” Alex counters, his smirk finally peeking through.

“You are…” Henry trails off, no idea how to finish that dispute, but he thinks Alex knows anyways.

“_Seriously though, how was your day?_” Alex tries again, and Henry sighs.

“It’s been…not great,” he admits. “I hoped to sleep a bit, but I don’t feel rested at all, so it doesn’t appear to have worked.”

“_Is there anything you want to…talk about?_” Alex asks cautiously. “_Because you know you can do that, right?_”

“I know,” Henry says, and he does. He has. “I just…I don’t really know right now. There isn’t always…something, you know? I just…want to stop feeling like this but I don’t know how to make it stop.” He squeezes his eyes shut against the frustrated tears that always seem to want to make an appearance when he’s feeling like this.

“_Henry_,” Alex whispers, and Henry almost sobs at how sweet he sounds. “_Baby, I’m so sorry. I…I wish there was something I could do._”

“Yes, well,” Henry sniffs, trying to play it off. “There isn’t really. This is just…something that happens, I suppose.”

“_Do you want me to talk?_” Alex offers. “_Or do you want to just talk? Or we can just sit here quietly, if you’d prefer, and I guess we could technically both talk, though that might be—_”

“Could you talk?” Henry interrupts. “Just…talk to me. And…don’t be insulted if I fall asleep? I didn’t sleep well last night and haven’t been able to sleep all day either, so I might finally just give in to exhaustion. And your voice…” he trails off, a bit embarrassed, but Alex seems to understand.

“_Please do_,” he encourages softly, then launches into a story about Nora and a YouTube video she had sent him earlier in the day involving cats and Thomas Jefferson. Henry doesn’t quite follow it, but that doesn’t matter because the sound of Alex’s voice is soothing and Henry feels something loosen in his chest.

“_We had Chinese for dinner tonight too_,” Alex is saying, “_and lemme tell you, nothing beats shrimp fried rice. I mean, objectively there is nothing extraordinary about takeout, but damn there’s just something about a carton of shrimp fried rice…_”

Henry is not going to use the word for what he’s feeling right now. It’s a forbidden word, locked behind generations of rules and traditions and images and repression and Henry knows that allowing himself to so much as _think_ the word would send everything toppling down around him.

(Henry thinks it might be worth it).

“_Sorry, am I losing you?_” Alex stops in the middle of something that happened at work today, and how he got there from fried rice Henry will never know.

“No, no, not at all,” Henry protests sleepily, barely suppressing a yawn. “Please, do continue.”

In reality he couldn’t care less what Alex rambles about. Anything that Alex finds worth telling , Henry finds worth listening to at the very least. And right now the subject matter is the least of his worries because finally his eyelids are growing heavy and this time he yawns big and loud, and even in his sleepy state Henry thinks he detects a tint of fondness in the other boy’s eyes. 

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles when Alex trails off, trying his best to hold the phone upright. It’s incredible, really; he spent almost all day trying, willing himself into slumber, but after less than an hour of listening to Alex’s soothing voice and looking at his beautiful face, Henry is just moments away from the most peaceful sleep he’s had in weeks. God, why don’t they just do this every night? Henry might be able to get his sleep cycle back to normal if he only had Alex talk to him whenever it was time for bed.

Of course, surely nothing would compare to sharing the bed with Alex’s body, but since that isn’t an option available to them at this time, he’ll settle for a soundtrack of Alex’s light drawl to help him relax.

“_I’m gonna stay here until you fall asleep, then I’m going to hang up, does that sound okay?_” Alex asks softly, and Henry vaguely feels himself nod. “_Okay, so there’s this guy, right? And I have no fuckin’ clue how he got a job here, but…_”

Henry has long lost the meaning of the words, but he closes his eyes and the flow of the syllables spilling from Alex’s lips lulls him to the edge of blessed unconsciousness, and suddenly he feels like he’s floating. Breathing comes easier and his mind has gone white save for thoughts of Alex and his words and his lips and his arms that Henry hopes to once again have around himself soon enough. 

He doesn’t remember what had kept him up all day, or the sting behind his eyes when he had realized that sleep was distant, or even his own name. All he remembers is _Alex, Alex, Alex_ and it seems as though that’s all it takes for his body to succumb to what it so desperately needs. As though Alex is his center of gravity, without which Henry is floating freely, untethered and lost. (As though he should be surprised by this realization).

Distantly, he hears Alex stop talking for a moment, and Henry is about to mumble his protest when Alex sighs, and Henry wishes he was alert enough to see the expression on Alex’s face when he does so.

“_There we go_,” Alex whispers—though maybe that’s just Henry’s sleep-deluded perception of his tone. “_Sleep well, sweetheart. I…I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sweet dreams._”

Henry finally loses consciousness at almost the exact moment the call disconnects, and he’ll chalk that up to coincidence as well.

** _Three_ **

Before Alex, Henry had spent years dealing with restless nights on his own. He has a few tricks up his sleeve, though none compare to the comfort the other boy brings him. It’s actually something they have in common, Henry’s realized. Alex, too, has nights where he can’t shut his brain off, he just deals with it differently than Henry does. So after spending a few hours in Henry’s bed kissing and touching and giggling and realizing that sleep is a long way off for the both of them, Henry makes a decision.

“Get up,” he instructs, shoving Alex off of him and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Huh?” Alex blinks in confusion. His body follows Henry’s before his brain catches up, and Henry feels a spark of happiness at that.

“We’re going to do something really stupid,” Henry informs him, practically bouncing over to his closet to grab them each a hoodie and a hat—disguises, though lame ones—and Alex puts them on without question. 

“Cool, love it, totally game,” Alex agrees, and Henry kisses him because he can.

They sneak out the back gardens giggling like children the whole way, and Henry is physically dragging Alex behind him as the other boy keeps getting distracted by street signs and buildings that Henry has seen a million times and is in no way interested in looking at right now. He’s on a mission.

He pulls his keyring out and feels around for the doorway that’s a bit hidden in the two-a.m. darkness. 

“Funny thing about being a prince—people will give you keys to just about anything if you ask nicely,” he comments, and Alex looks a little bit awestruck. 

The Victoria and Albert Museum has been his favorite place since he was young, and now it’s his favorite place to go when he needs to get out of the suffocating walls of the palace late at night. He could wander the rooms here forever, and still have more to see. More to learn. He realizes, as they run through the courtyard, that he hasn’t been here in a while. There was a stretch about a year ago where Henry would visit the museum multiple times a week. He had just finished school and spent most of his days wondering what he was doing with his life. He needed to escape a lot. He still needs to escape sometimes, but lately something—or someone—else has provided that for him.

Henry glances over his shoulder to find Alex laughing loud and free, and he just about melts. If he’s honest, Henry is a little bit nervous about bringing Alex here. He doesn’t think there’s a world in which Alex would laugh at him, or make him feel stupid for placing such significance on a stupid museum. But more than anything he wants Alex to _get_ it, the way they seem to get everything else about each other. He can’t articulate why, other than it’s a piece of his childhood that never goes away. It’s a place he can just be Henry. 

Alex asks him about how often he comes here and Henry finds himself rambling about things his mum used to tell him, things he’s noticed in his years of sneaking in here, his favorite parts, and the crazy part is he doesn’t even realize how long he’s been talking until Alex quiets him with a kiss.

“Hello,” Henry grins fondly. “What was that for?”

“I just like, really love you,” Alex replies, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Somehow, Henry supposes it is. 

They end up in Renaissance City, Henry’s favorite room of the entire thing, and the expression on Alex’s face as he takes in the grand room is worth the entire world.

“In here, at night, it’s almost like walking through a real piazza,” Henry whispers, pressed close to Alex’s side. “But there’s nobody else around to touch you or gawk at you or try to steal a photo of you. You can just _be_.”

Gently, he runs a thumb over the back of Alex’s hand, waiting for his reaction. Henry doesn’t even realize that he’s holding his breath until Alex squeezes his hand in response, saying “Tell me everything,” and Henry launches into every detail he’s picked up over the course of his years. He leads Alex in a circle of the room, showing him each and every statue and painting, explaining the stories behind them.

Alex listens, interrupting from time to time with questions or comments that indicate to Henry that he’s _actually _listening, soaking up every word that comes out of Henry’s mouth, and it makes him feel warm and safe inside knowing that he’s valued here. That Alex isn’t just going to be polite—Alex never has been, with him. His honest questions are intermixed with sarcastic remarks, which Henry takes in stride, rolling his eyes good-naturedly or tugging lightly at the hair on the base of Alex’s neck in warning. It makes the other boy grin every time, like that’s his indication that whatever he’s doing is working, and he’s going to continue doing whatever possible to get Henry to keep reacting like that. It’s absolutely ridiculous, and Henry falls for it hook, line, and sinker. (It’s not the only thing Henry’s fallen for).

His favorite piece—the last one they encounter—is the statue of _Samson Slaying a Philistine_, and with a quiet pride he shares with Alex the story of how it came into Britain’s possession. It’s his way of coping, he supposes. Digging into the history of queer figures—especially royal ones—makes him feel less like he’s alone. Henry remembers many a late night at uni spent reading through whatever conspiracy sites his Google searches led him to, determined to soak up any tidbit he possibly could. He would read every angle, no stone left unturned. So by this point Henry has fact upon fact stored up in his brain, and Alex is the first person to express interest in Henry sharing them. Maybe that’s why he feels safe just letting his mouth run itself silly. Because he knows, for whatever unfathomable reason, that Alex actually wants to hear him. 

When he finishes the story, Alex smirks and takes a step back, pulling out his phone and aiming it at Henry with the statue of Solomon over his left shoulder. Henry grins shyly.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m taking a picture of a national gay landmark,” Alex lowers his arm and Henry can see the teasing glint in his eye. “And also a statue.”

Henry laughs, and Alex comes back towards him again for a kiss. Henry doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of feeling Alex’s lips against his skin. 

“It’s funny,” Henry admits softly. “I always thought of the whole thing as the most unforgivable thing about me, but you act like it’s one of the best.”

After, he takes Alex deeper into a second room, a beautiful altar surrounded by stained glass and statues of saints. It dawns on Henry once more how out of place the two of them are in this particular setting; the saints depicted here must be rolling in their graves.

But it’s so familiar that it’s peaceful, that it feels completely right, and Henry finds himself admitting another secret, just barely loud enough for Alex to hear beside him.

“When I was younger, I had this very elaborate idea of taking somebody I loved here,” he blushes a bit at the mention of love, still not used to sharing that emotion so freely, “and standing inside the chapel, that he’d love it as much as I did, and we’d slow dance in front of the Blessed Mother.” 

Henry hadn’t actually thought of this when they’d set out, but now standing here, Alex taking it all in by his side, practically glowing in the dim lights that had been kept on for them, Henry wants—_needs_—to hold him close. Right here, right now. He slowly pulls out his phone and scrolls through his Spotify for a moment until he finds the song he’s looking for—their song. He holds out his hand and Alex laughs a little (not mocking, just soft surprise) as he takes it, allowing Henry to take the lead.

Their dance is less of an actual dance and more just swaying back and forth, slowly, kissing, breathing each other in. Alex lifts one of Henry’s hands to his lips, pressing the softest of kisses along the knuckle, and Henry almost sobs at the tenderness of it. He brushes the same hand along Alex’s jaw, cupping his face for yet another kiss. His mind is void of everything that isn’t _Alex_ and _love_ and it’s far from the first time he’s thought about those two words together, but knowing that he’s allowed to think them is still blessedly new. 

This love—he’s never felt anything like it.

They dance until the song ends, then a couple more because they can’t bear to tear themselves apart, before finally Henry feels the day catching up with him as he tucks his chin over Alex’s shoulder and lets his eyes drift shut.

“Hey,” Alex’s whisper is the first word that either of them has spoken in minutes. “Don’t fall asleep on me, baby. You’ve still gotta get us out of here.” Henry mumbles something incoherent in response but lifts his head and shuts off the music. He presses one more kiss to Alex’s forehead and takes his hand, leading him back the way they came. 

They stroll much more slowly this time, neither quite having the energy for the sprint with which they’d arrived. Henry gives a nod to Gavin, the security guard, as they pass again, thanking him for giving them their space. The walk back is quiet, though Henry isn’t sure if it’s because they don’t want to get caught, or if they just don’t have any words at the moment. Henry’s not sure he could speak if he wanted to.

They finally tumble into bed again around four in the morning, the first hints of sunrise already hitting the eastern sky outside Henry’s bedroom. Both boys have stripped down to just their boxers, and after about thirty seconds they’ve taken those off too. Henry wraps around Alex from behind, lavishing his broad shoulders with kisses and little nips, nothing that would lead to more than this, but enough that he feels Alex sigh and relax back into him.

“Need me to take you apart again?” Alex mumbles sleepily. “Anything else to take the edge off?”

Henry closes his eyes experimentally and finds that they want to stay that way for once in his life, and has to force himself to answer, “I’m okay. This is absolutely perfect, love. Just like this.”

“Mmmm,” Alex agrees sleepily. “Me too. Real nice. I love you.”

Henry’s heart skips a beat. He wonders if Alex felt it against his back.

“I love you too,” he whispers in response, heavy eyelids winning out over his desire to look at his love. Watching Alex sleep is one of his favorite activities, but it would have to wait for another day. His formerly racing mind is completely at peace, their late-night adventure allowing Henry to focus on one thing and one thing alone.

Henry doesn’t think about the fact that when they wake up, Alex is going to have to get back on a plane and cross the Atlantic again. He doesn’t think about the fact that somewhere in London, his brother and his grandmother wouldn’t hesitate to throw Alex onto the streets in disgrace while locking Henry in his room forever if they ever discovered what was happening. He doesn’t think about the tens of thousands of things that could still go wrong, things that interfere with any normal relationship between two normal people, not even taking into account that there’s absolutely nothing normal about their circumstances. 

All he thinks is that Alex smells like the most delightful mix of salt and summer and he could die happily in a cloud of it. 

Henry falls asleep, and instead of being disturbed by nightmares, his dreams are filled with dark skin and dark hair and warm brown eyes that he could get lost in. It’s the best night of sleep he’s ever gotten.

** _Four_ **

Henry’s already thrown up twice today. 

First had been when he realized that this time the leak wasn’t just a couple blurry pictures, but their actual emails, the most sacred, private things they’d written to each other over the past few months. It had taken so much for him just to share some of that with _Alex_. It wasn’t…the world has no business knowing him that way. Those words, those parts of himself are for Alex and Alex alone. He needs to talk to Alex. He needs to hear his voice. He needs him to tell him that everything will be okay. (He’s possibly losing his mind).

Then he’s dragged to meeting after meeting and told that he’s not allowed to make contact with Alex, or anyone outside of the palace, for that matter, and it gets to be so incredibly _much _that Henry pretty much fogs out after that. He knows he’s still moving, still breathing, but he has no idea where he is, is completely unaware of what’s happening around him. Bea yelling, then Bea moving him to their little music room, the one room they had set up together, and all he can do is collapse in a ball on the floor while his sister screens who is and isn’t allowed in. He feels a bit like a useless child, but doesn’t have the mental fortitude at the moment to do anything else. (He’s definitely losing his mind).

Henry’s lying on the floor, one of Bea’s ridiculous floofy pillows under his head, and he wants more than anything to cry. He’s scared, he’s mortified, he’s feeling a bit hopeless but his eyes stay dry. Lifeless, really. For all the millions of things he’s feeling, Henry feels nothing at all. He’s _numb_.

Bea sits down next to him after a few minutes, and Henry sees that Shaan has taken her place guarding the door. If he could feel anything, it would probably make him feel warm to have these two people support him so diligently, but all he can do is lean into his sister’s comforting hand combing through his hair and close his eyes.

“I’m not going to go anywhere. Take a rest if you need, love,” she tells him softly, but Henry shakes his head.

“Can’t,” he sighs, rubbing his fists over his eyes, and Bea makes a sympathetic noise.

Eventually he can’t even lie there anymore and gets up to start pacing. He doesn’t have a watch on him, and his phone’s been taken, so he had no idea how long it’s been, but no one new has come by in what seems like hours and Henry’s starting to get a bit frustrated. Shaan’s been in and out a few times, sometimes with his cellphone pressed to his ear, sometimes to go whisper with someone in the hallway, and Henry wants to scream. No one will tell him anything and he has a right to know what’s going on, it’s his life. Dammit, it’s _his life!_ What the hell are they even doing here? It’s…it’s bloody ridiculous is what it is, that he should be hiding in here when he hasn’t done anything wrong.

“I need to talk to Alex,” he growls, swiveling around to glare at whoever was still in the room. Bea looks back at him sadly.

“You know you can’t do that right now,” she replies.

“I need to talk to him,” he repeats, desperate, but knowing it’s useless. This isn’t something they should have to do alone. They should be next to each other. Henry feels so impossibly small right now, but with Alex beside him he feels like he can conquer the world. Alex is just so…grand. Henry could use some of that right now, that’s what this is. He wants to talk to him, but more than that he _needs_ to talk to him. He can’t do anything until he talks to him. (He also needs to see him, hold him, taste him…it’s all-consuming, this need for Alex). (This is neither the time nor the place).

“Henry, come sit with me,” Bea pats the spot on the bench next to her, and Henry sighs, leaning his head on her shoulder when he sits down. “You’re torturing yourself, love, and you’re exhausted.”

“I’m not going to sleep, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Henry replies bluntly.

“No, I know you’re not. Just close your eyes for a bit.”

“Already did that,” he grumbles. “Didn’t work. Mostly I just want to punch something right now. Phillip, maybe?”

Bea huffs out a giggle. “Get in line, pal. Unfortunately I don’t think that will solve anything.”

“Might make me feel better.”

“You’ll only end up feeling guilty,” Bea reminds him. “Even if he will most certainly deserve it at some point, he’s not who you’re most upset with right now.”

Of course she’s right, in a way, but really Henry has a list of grievances that could stretch from England to America and back again, and Phillip probably appears on that list more than any single person. Even if this might not be _his fault_, per say, Henry refuses to give him an ounce of credit.

“All the same, it’s probably best if I don’t have to see his stupid face right now,” Henry asserts, and Bea doesn’t disagree with him. 

Shaan steps out again and returns with a tray of snacks that Bea starts to pick at but Henry’s stomach rolls unfavorably, despite already having expelled everything earlier, and he has to look the other way.

“Eat something?” Bea pleads softly.

“No,” his response leaves no room for negotiation.

“you’re driving yourself crazy, Henry,” she tells him. “That won’t help anything.”

“Don’t care,” he stands up again to resume pacing.

“Henry…”

“Please,” he interrupts, looking at her with what he’s sure is an alarming expression. “Just…please.”

She drops it then.

Phillip does come by eventually, and Henry can hear him ranting and raving even before he sets foot in the room, and Bea stops him at the door.

“Get out,” she instructs curtly, while Henry levels him with the coldest glare he can muster.

“I just think I need to—”

“You need to get out,” Bea repeats, physically shoving their brother to keep him from fully entering the room. 

“He has to think about—”

“_Out_, Phillip!” she slams the door behind him with an emphatic bang before turning back to Henry. “You shouldn’t—”

She’s interrupted by what sounded like a crash coming from outside of the room, and Henry almost surrenders a smile. His brother’s anger shouldn’t amuse him so, but after all he’s been through for the past…well, ever, Henry thinks he deserves to ruffle a few feathers while his own world comes crashing down around him.

Henry realizes that he’s not upset that people know. He’s upset about the way it happened, and he’s upset that his most inner thoughts had been shared with the world, but as for Alex? Henry’s wanted to shout that from the rooftops for quite some time. And now that he’s out, he’s not about to give a damn what they think about it. This was always the hardest part, and now that it’s happened he’s not about to go back into the closet, and no one could possibly make him.

Which is exactly what he said when he finally got to talk to Alex on the phone, over twelve hours after the story had first broken.

Shaan had stepped out again, and when he came back he had shoved his cellphone in Henry’s direction with no further explanation. He doesn’t know what he had been expecting, but the sweet sound of his boyfriend’s voice hitting his ears is an instant balm, all the anger and stress muting themselves, replaced by nothing but a desperate need to have Alex in his arms _right this minute_.

The relief in Alex’s voice when he hears Henry speak is comforting, because maybe Henry isn’t the only one hanging onto his sanity by a thread, and he feels brave. This is _it_. The two of them. It’s all that matters to Henry, right now. All he can think of is Alex, somewhere over the Atlantic curled around whatever phone he’s using, knees tucked into his chin as he tries to keep his voice steady. Henry wonders if Alex is even aware of the strain in his own voice, if the two of them being together again would alleviate that too, like he’s sure it would the tremor in his hand.

“I won’t lie,” he says, leaving absolutely no room for dispute. He’s never been so serious. “Not about this. Not about you.”

He can tell they’re both starting to get emotional, and Henry blinks against a wave of tears. He hasn’t cried up until this point, and he’s not going to cry just because he’s soft for his stupid, amazing, _brave_ boyfriend.

Henry’s practically a new man by the time they’ve hung up, and as a result there’s an abundance of energy pumping through his veins. Bea has to split her effort between keeping Phillip out of the room and keeping Henry in, because any face-to-face interaction between the two men would likely come to blows, and that’s a dimension no one wants to add.

But this means that Henry is well-past simmering when his mother finally makes an appearance. 

Were he to be completely honest, it’s a long-overdue blowup that follows, and while Henry feels guilty for it afterwards, Bea’s right that their mother probably deserves it.

She had tried to be supportive, had gone to pull him into a hug and Henry had accepted it at first, but her assertion that Henry “could have told her sooner” has him seeing red. She has no more right to this part of him than anyone else does, for all he’s felt her support the past few years, and her assuming her own place in his life just rubs him the wrong way at the wrong moment.

“That’s great, mum,” he snaps sarcastically, pulling away from her embrace, “but as long as you’re letting Gran keep me trapped, it doesn’t mean a fucking thing.” The look on her face has him regretting it almost immediately, but it’s overshadowed by his hurt and sadness and anger and he holds his ground until Bea ushers her back into the hall.

Henry deflates when he’s alone again. Shaan must have stepped out for a bit, and he can still hear his sister and mother arguing in the hall, but too low for him to make out their words. He’s alone for the first time since this morning, and he doesn’t like it one bit. He aches for…something. Alex, probably. He always aches for Alex, and right now there’s no one to even attempt to distract him from that. He slumps into the settee by the window, feeling impossibly smaller than his six-four frame would suggest, staring wistfully out over the grounds.

This view hasn’t changed once in his entire life, nor had it changed in the lifetimes of many who had come before him, probably. At times like this he feels less like a real human and more like a character in a story. A fairytale, on good days. Or a Shakespearian tragedy. Locked away in here with his Prince Charming (Henry doesn’t miss the irony) racing across the world to his side, Henry isn’t sure what kind of day today is.

A firm hand on his shoulder draws a sigh from deep inside his chest, and a yawn after it. He recognizes Shaan’s touch without even looking up, and leans into the contact. It’s not what he’s looking for, but it’s as good as he can get at the moment.

“You should sleep,” Shaan suggests, low. “Alex will be here in a few hours, just get some rest until then.”

Henry shakes his head. The exhaustion is a blunt pain behind his eyelids now, after having slept only four hours the night before and spending the entire day in an emotional whirlwind, but every time he so much as tries to close his eyes, they pry themselves back open again, not yet ready to put him out of his misery. (He knows its useless to even try without Alex here).

“Could use a drink,” he remarks instead, and he hears Shaan sigh.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea…” Shaan tries, and Henry just sighs again, not really in the mood to argue anymore, and a moment later the hand disappears and comes back again with a bottle of brandy. Henry raises it in thanks, gaze never leaving the outside world as he takes the first long gulp. 

His therapist could probably list off a hundred reasons why drinking isn’t a good idea right now, and his sister could list a hundred more, but neither of them are in the room right now and Henry’s in no state to talk himself through healthy coping strategies when everything seems so…bleak. Objectively, he knows he’s not going to live the rest of his life in this room—Alex is only a few hours away at the most by now, and they’ll figure out what to do. But just yesterday Henry had been in a fake relationship with Alex’s sister and he’d have to be insane or insanely naïve to think that things could change so quickly.

So he takes another swig and ignores his sister’s disapproving gaze when she finally does reenter the room. There’s a bird just outside the window. Two of them, actually. Henry wonders if they’re lovers, if maybe they have their own little nest off somewhere they can be together, unperturbed and free. Henry never thought he’d be jealous of some birds.

Finally, _finally_, he hears Alex before he sees him, and Henry’s hands start to shake. It hasn’t been that long since they’ve seen each other, and talking on the phone just a few hours ago had felt as much like them as anything could possibly hope to at the moment, so Henry’s not entirely certain what he’s nervous about. It’s possible that he body is just wired with about ten different kinds of energy and has no idea what to do with any of it, in which case he’d quite like to get a handle on it before Alex walks through the door…

All it takes is one little smile, a half of a laugh, and Henry’s launching himself across the room, bottle of brandy forgotten on the small table next to him. The moment Alex’s arms are around him he breathes, deep and full, all of the tension and anger and frustration and sadness and hopelessness seeping out of him and into the ground where it belongs, and instead Henry feels so full of love and happiness and pride that he could sob. 

He’s never been so sure of anything as he is of Alex. He can’t repeat it enough. He’s sure about Alex. He might not be sure about much but he’s one hundred percent certain that Alex Claremont-Diaz is the love of his life. Nothing, not a single thing, can take that away from him. This is _his_, and it’s the best thing to ever happen to him. This, right here, is the best thing to ever happen to him.

Henry curls up on the floor, head resting in Alex’s lap, as they recount their miserable days, Bea sitting across from them and filling the room with light music. Henry can’t remember if she had done that all day. Maybe the day would have been more bearable if she had. Or maybe she had and Henry had just been too deep within himself to notice.

It’s with Alex’s fingers scratching gentle circles into his scalp that Henry finally feels himself relax enough to sleep. It’s been…quite the day, and to be frank Henry is amazed he’s made it this long. It’s almost midnight, nearly sixteen hours since he had been ripped from his bed by a frazzled Shaan and a worried Bea trying to get to him before Philip could, and no matter how exhausted he had been—both physically and emotionally—it took _this_ to quiet his brain. Henry realizes that he could sleep just about anywhere if Alex would keep touching him like that. And for the first time, Henry thinks that maybe that’s not so impossible after all.

** _Five_ **

Henry grumbles in frustration as he rolls over for what feels like the fiftieth time tonight. He sleeps better these days, more often than not he even sleeps through the night, but from time to time that little…_thing_ in the back of his brain just won’t quiet down enough for him to rest. It’s just as frustrating now as ever, and he has to blink against the frustrated tears that threaten to give away his distress.

Beside him, Alex snores lightly, completely dead to the world. Alex has slept better too, since they started sleeping together all the time. He had never been as bad as Henry, but his sleep schedule could be pretty erratic and Henry’s so grateful that he finally has it more or less under control, especially given his new commitment to law school. He just hopes it keeps up.

And Henry will be damned if he plays any part in spoiling it, no matter how badly he aches for his boyfriend to rock him until his stupid brain finally cooperates and lets him get the rest he needs. He refuses to wake Alex. That’s not what he’s here for, he’s supposed to take care of him. Not add to his burden.

With a sigh, Henry pulls back the covers and swings his feet over the edge of the bed. The alarm clock on his nightstand blinks two-fourteen and Henry has to look away quickly, lest the frustrated tears actually spill over. His alarm is already set for seven, and he’s not looking forward to functioning on so little sleep, but he doesn’t really know what else to do.

Jaffa Cakes aren’t easy to find in this godforsaken country, but after every trip to England he brings back a stash, and Bea periodically sends him boxes of treats in bulk to tide him over in the meantime, so he never runs out of his favorite comfort snack. He curls up on the couch with a sleeve of the biscuits and the fluffy throw blanket they always keep draped over one of the arms (or in a ball on the floor, depending on who last used it) and queues up Netflix.

There’s so much mindless TV to choose from here, and Alex has introduced him to a wide variety of slightly-less-intense American cooking shows, but nothing soothes him like _Bake Off_, no matter how many times he’s seen each episode. Somehow, knowing exactly what’s going to happen at any given moment just makes the show even more relaxing, all elements of surprise eliminated leaving only the soothing tones and the calming colors and the sharp wit of the hosts (though Henry will probably die angry at the loss of Mel and Sue and maintains that the show will never be the same again) to saturate his brain with _calm_.

He’s still not tired, or at least not tired enough to sleep, but having his mind focused on something other than his insomnia already makes a huge difference in his mental state. He even feels a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the familiarity of this. For everything that has changed in the last year or so, this is still who he is. Now, though, he just so happens to have someone else who loves him for who he is.

Henry knows he’s better now than he’s ever been before, and that’s all thanks to Alex. It’s so hard to be unhappy when he’s living with the most incredible man he’s ever met, and most of the time he rests easy knowing that Alex is right there beside him, no more than an arm’s length away should he ever need something. But Alex isn’t a cure, and that’s something that Henry’s had to come to terms with. That just because he has a loving boyfriend, he’s not going to be magically fixed. He still has bad days, he still has hard nights, he still takes medication, he still sees a therapist twice a month. But he spends less time lying in his bed in desolation, wondering what’s wrong with him, wondering if it ever gets better. (Because it got so much better).

It’s near the end of the technical challenge that another weight flops down on the couch beside him, immediately molding to his side.

Henry turns his head a bit, his nose brushing against the top of his Alex’s head, taking in his familiar scent. He closes his eyes and lets out a little hum of contentment.

“You weren’t in bed,” Alex accuses, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Henry replies softly.

“You didn’t. But I woke up and you were gone. Don’t like when that happens.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around Alex’s shoulders to pull him closer and press a kiss to the top of his messy hair. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re supposed to wake me when that happens,” Alex reminds him, because this part is familiar too. Henry _hates_ having to wake Alex, no matter how many times the other boy attests that that’s _exactly_ what Henry should do when he can’t sleep, because they both know that Henry has a much better chance of finding peace when Alex holds him or rubs his back or touches him in any other way. In theory it sounds like a small thing, but Henry still hates to be a bother.

“I’m sorry,” Henry says again, instead of arguing. “I’ll come back to bed soon.”

“’Course you will,” Alex mumbles, “because I’m staying here until you do.” Henry rolls his eyes but says nothing, sinking further into the couch and pulling Alex down with him. Alex goes easily, his arm draped securely across Henry’s chest, and starts pressing kisses to the slope of Henry’s shoulder. 

Already Henry’s eyes are starting to feel heavy, the comforting weight on top of him like a security blanket. Like home. They shouldn’t fall asleep on the couch, they’ve made that mistake on more than one occasion, but Henry’s entirely too comfortable to even think about moving.

By the time the end credits are playing, not even the bouncy theme music pulls Henry back towards consciousness. Alex turns off the tv and the red behind Henry’s eyelids turns to black.

“Henry, baby, I can’t carry you, you’re gonna have to move for me,” Alex prompts, gently shaking his shoulder.

“’M up,” Henry grumbles, but it still takes him a minute to shift into action, even with his boyfriend’s urging. Alex huffs a laugh and kisses his shoulder when he’s mostly upright again. He lets Alex lead him back to their room, and only stumbles a little bit on his way up.

Alex pulls him close—so, _so_ close—as soon as they’re horizontal again. Henry nuzzles into his boyfriend’s neck, pressing sleepy little kisses just above the collar of his t-shirt. Alex huffs out a laugh that ghosts over Henry’s ear and he smiles.

“I love you,” Alex whispers, soft as anything, and Henry still melts every time he hears it. Gently, Alex brushes a hand down Henry’s bicep, then back again up his back. “I’m gonna talk to you until you fall asleep, does that sound good?” Henry nods into his shoulder, already most of the way there. It’s amazing, sometimes, the affect Alex can have on him. He affects something deep inside Henry that nothing else can touch, something all wonky-shaped and broken that’s only whole when pressed against its exact other half.

Alex is so good at this, has mastered the exact tone that sends vibrations from his chest through Alex’s body, the exact volume that allows his words to become a blur of sounds that centers Henry, the exact speed and pressure of his hand to be soothing without being distracting. It’s a full-body experience, being held by Alex, and every inch of Henry feels safe and loved.

It’s like this that his breathing finally evens out, that his thoughts fade into dreams and even there, there’s still Alex. His entire world narrowed to just the two of them, as it should be. Like this, Henry feels untouchable.

Like this, Henry can sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the longest thing i've ever written by a lot and i can't believe i let it go this far, but i just got really into writing henry and the sections kept getting longer and longer...so hopefully some of yall actually enjoyed reading it? pls leave me a comment if you did, feedback makes my day!


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